The Fragile Heart of Ice
by Wolfy of the Winds
Summary: Mission: Assassinate "Il Magnifico" Status: Pending   Lorenzo/Giovanni toward the bottom, don't like, don't read.


**A/N:**** **_WARNING**_ GUYXGUY FLUFF TOWARD THE BOTTOM. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ :|** Don't complain because you didn't see this warning in the summary OR here. That's just your fault, really.

Otherwise, enjoy~!

* * *

The library was dark, deserted in the middle of the night. Silence pervaded the large room, as the duke walked aimlessly around, as quiet as the room himself. Such a walk was necessary quite often, especially now, as the stresses of their current situation weight on Lorenzo, and sleep would not come to him.

A rustle broke the silence, somewhere close by. The duke froze, listening. The weak floorboard near the side of the room creaked, and Lorenzo knew right then that it was not a member of his household. Not a single servant did not know of that floorboard. His grip tightened on his walking stick, and he kept moving through the library, keeping up the pretense that he felt no threat.

Another quiet rustle, and the duke ducked, dodging a softly whistling throwing knife. He broke into a run, heading for his secret study, where perhaps he may find a better weapon. Previously silent footsteps grew loud as the intruder sped up to keep up with the duke.

Lorenzo reached a wall and ducked again, hearing the _thunk_ of another throwing knife embedding into the wall where he had been just a heartbeat before. Spinning to the side, he ran down a hallway and pulled on a candle-holder. The wall moved to the side and he hurtled up the stairs, aware of the intruder slipping in before the secret door closed. He reached his study and turned, raising his walking stick and catching the descending sword, blocking it. The intruder's face was masked, though Lorenzo could hear a growl as the would-be assassin put more strength into his attack.

The duke's pet hawk let out a cry, and the attacker relented for just a moment, allowing Lorenzo to attempt to sweep the sword away. The hawk leaped out the open window, taking to the skies, a red ribbon tied around its foot, disappearing into the darkness. Lorenzo was able to push the sword down and to the right, but the intruder managed to push the walking stick off with the tip of his sword, slashing the duke from the side of his stomach to his hip. The duke's eyes narrowed as he pushed away the pain – he would deal with it later.

The intruder dashed forward, his sword held at mid-height. Lorenzo brought his walking-stick up, using it to guide the sword away from his chest, earning a slice to his arm. As the assassin moved past, with the momentum of his attack being moved elsewhere making him just slightly unbalanced, the duke brought up his walking stick and smacked the attacker in the back of his neck, sending him rolling forward.

His left arm was throbbing from the new wound, and the intruder had rolled into a crouch and unsheathed a dagger, leaving the sword on the ground. The duke grit his teeth and stood, waiting for an opening. The assassin dashed forward and grabbed Lorenzo's right leg, drawing the dagger sharply against the back of his calf, causing his leg to buckle and give out. The duke – his opening given – slammed his walking stick into the side of the intruder's throat, throwing him into the desk. Pulling the stick back, he drove the weapon into the center of his attacker's neck, snapping his spine against the ornate desk. The would-be assassin dropped to the floor, blood bubbling to his lips, and Lorenzo managed to use the stick to stumble onto his good leg, nearly falling against the windowed wall. His walking stick snapped in half, and the wounded duke slid to the floor, pressing his arm against his side. His eyes fell closed, and he relaxed, giving into the unconsciousness.

* * *

The hawk spotted its target and descended in a steep dive, snapping its wings out at the end, slowing down rapidly and landing on the cowled assassin's shoulder. The man glanced at the bird and, recognizing it, slowed his horse down, a cold feeling of dread rising in the pit of his stomach. One glance at the bird showed him that the only item it had was the red ribbon that was perpetually tied to its foot. This meant that either the duke had had no time to write, or that the bird had gone on its own accord, and for good reason. Neither option bade well.

Giovanni swallowed and spurred the horse into a gallop, noticing the bird take to the skies. He had already been on his way back to _Firenze_, after a successful kill, but now he had reason to push the horse's limits.

The animal served him well, bringing him to the gates of _Firenze_ in a mere forty minutes. The assassin leaped off, silently apologizing to the exhausted beast, before rushing through the gates, left alone by the guards due to his blood-red Medici cape.

Giovanni was at the Medici _palazzo_ by the end of the hour since he had seen the hawk. He pushed past the guards at the door, who vaguely recognized him and saw his cape, before sprinting up to the library. The duke had to be near, for the hawk was nearly always in his secret study. Signs of an attack made Giovanni's throat tighten with worry as he raced through the library, taking note of the throwing knives and how there was no blood around them.

The assassin had no patience for the secret door, and he slid through the opening the instant it was large enough to accommodate him, sprinting up the winding stairs.

Though there were no candles that remained lit, the moon shone through the window, and Giovanni was sure that his heart was in his throat as he quickly surveyed the room and the blood in it. He dropped to his knees by Lorenzo's limp form and quickly checked for a pulse. The quietest thump slipped past the assassin's fingers, and he lumped in sudden relief. Perhaps he was not too late.

Giovanni scooped the duke into his arms, picking him up and turning swiftly to the stairs. The hawk made and anxious chirp behind the assassin, and Giovanni echoed its worry as he nearly ran down the stairs, holding the duke close. The door opened with a quiet rasp, and the assassin rushed through the library once more, heading for the duke's room.

A night-servant stopped Giovanni, and only when the assassin nearly ordered him to summon a doctor was he let go. They reached Lorenzo's bedchambers and the assassin set him gently on the bed, his brow furrowed with worry. Prying the duke's robes off of the drying blood of his wounds, he bit his lip.

"Come on, _Altezza_, fight," Giovanni murmured softly, barely aware of the door slamming open behind him. The summoned doctor nearly shoved the assassin to the side, causing him to jump back to his feet. Those in the room paid him no heed, turning to tend to their precious duke.

* * *

There was darkness, and agony. This was not death, that much he knew, unless this was Hell. The pain was everywhere, flooding through him in steady waves that overlapped and intensified, until he was slowly able to recognize the points of origin. The worst was in his side, the second in his leg, the third in his arm. Each point sent its own continuous waves of agony through him, and he found his voice, moaning softly. A comforting warmth encased his arm, below the agony, and it only partially dulled the pain from his arm. His hearing came back with that warmth, and sounds assaulted him; the voices of a calm doctor, fussing servants, and the low, rumbling purr of his assassin. He moaned softly once more, that warm grip on his arm acting as an anchor, giving him something to orient himself around.

"Giovanni…?" he managed to rasp, his eyes still closed.

"Right here, _Altezza_," came the soft answer, to his left.

"Where-?"

"Your bedchambers, milord."

"What…happened?" Lorenzo was finding more and more of himself, his eyes cracking open, searching for his assassin. To the left, he remembered, and spotted Giovanni's hooded form, so familiar to him.

"Your hawk found me on my way back to _Firenze_. There was no message save for its red ribbon, and I feared the worst. I found you in your study, wounded, with your walking stick snapped in half and a dead intruder against your desk…" the assassin trailed off. The duke nodded softly, beginning to remember through the ever-present haze of pain.

"Your mission?"

"A success."

"Good." The duke sighed, his eyes drifting closed for a moment.

"You should rest, _Altezza_. I'll have a new walking stick made for you."

"_Grazie,_ then. And, if the carpenter could make it stronger, perhaps with some metals, without sacrificing it's lightweight strength, I am willing to pay him more," the duke murmured, already drifting off into an unconscious state to escape the pain.

"Sleep, _Altezza_. I will be here when you wake."

* * *

The servants became a nuisance, then, bothering the doctor, constantly asking if the duke would be alright. It got to the point where the _dottore_ was enjoying the silent man's presence, for though his figure spoke of hidden danger, _he_ was not bickering and blabbering and gossiping.

Finally, the doctor could take it no longer and he ordered the servants away, and when they did not go, he called the duke's guards to make them leave. The guards then went to escort the hooded man out, but he would not budge, and he growled lowly – a primal, predatorial sound – startling the burly men and causing them to back off. The _dottore_ waved them off before swords could be unsheathed, grumbling about the noise a fight would make.

"He doesn't bother me. Leave the man be."

"As you say, _dottore_," the guards replied quietly, moving back out to stand by the door. The silent man settled back, not unlike a cat settling on its haunches, and he watched over the duke like a hawk. His face gave away nothing, though the doctor was once able to catch a glimpse of piercing golden eyes, and he felt as if his very soul was being stared through. After that, he left the man alone, beginning to question whether or not he was even human.

The only evidence to that was the obvious worry he had displayed before the duke had woken. For all other appearances, the man could have been an immortal creature of the dark corners of the city. The _dottore_ indulged in these fanciful imaginations as he wrapped the duke's wounds, all the while aware of the eyes boring into his back.

"Make yourself useful and go down to my stall outside. I need more bandages and salve.

"It is that grievous?" the man rasped quietly.

"He'll survive. I'll need more bandages, though."

"_Si, si_. I will return shortly," the man replied, leaving his spot and striding proudly from the room, turning to a nearby balcony and leaping down to the street.

The doctor was left with a comfortable silence as he used up the bandages he had left. The duke was laying on his bed, wrapping in only the bandages that criss-crossed all over his body, exaggerating how wounded he truly was. The _dottore_ had already stitched up the wound in the duke's side, and his calf wound was not a severed tendon, for which he was lucky. The muscles would heal – albeit slowly – but a tendon may not have. He was detachedly thankful that the duke would not be crippled by this assassination attempt.

There was a quiet, discontented rumble outside the room, and the doctor assumed it was the guards. They quieted down a moment later and the door did not open. The _dottore_ shrugged to himself, jumping in surprise a moment later when a figure climbed easily through the window, landing silently. Noticing the doctor's indignant stare, the man shrugged, holding out the bandages.

"Easier than fighting with those guards," he murmured indifferently, glancing back down at the duke as the doctor took his supplies. "How is he?"

"I told you he will be fine and so he will be fine," the _dottore_ grumbled, using the remaining bandages and salve on Lorenzo. He sat back, scrutinizing his work for any glaring mistakes. Deciding that it was adequate – even exceptional – he began packing the scarce remainder of his supplies, before turning to the not-so-silent-after-all man. Said man raised his arms in an innocent gesture.

"I do not control _Il Magnifico_'s florins. You will have to ask someone else," he said fluidly, before taking his attention off the doctor and back on the duke. The _dottore _huffed and left, noticing the man take the now-unoccupied chair by the bed, watching over the duke.

* * *

It was hours of waiting patiently before Giovanni was bothered, though it was not by an awakening duke, as he had hoped.

"_Messere_, kindly leave _Il Magnifico_ to his healing," one of the guards said, striding into the room, evidently not liking the way the assassin seemed to dote on Lorenzo. Giovanni replied with a cold silence and the ever-subtle movement of his feet, turning back to gaze at the bed.

"_Messere, _that was an order," the other guard growled, angered. Giovanni again did not reply, not even paying the guards any attention. The second, more passionate guard stepped forward and grabbed the front of the assassin's robes, lifting him from the chair. The other guard kicked the chair away, lest the man should attempt to use it to move.

"We won't ask you again," the larger guard – who was currently holding Giovanni in the air, away from the ground – nearly shouted.

"Careful, you do not want to wake the _Duce_, do you?" Giovanni asked slyly, his voice like rich silk, not even moving against the guards. The guards growled, tensing visibly. A quiet murmur went unheard between the two burly men, though Giovanni seemed to relax further upon hearing it, angering the guards even more.

"_Ch-che cosa_? What is the meaning of this?" The guards jumped in shock, dropping Giovanni out of surprise. The assassin stumbled back, catching his balance quickly and rubbing at his neck.

"_S-sua Altezza_! How are you feeling?"

"I asked you a question," the duke said coldly.

"A-ah, this man has been sitting here for hours. We asked him to leave you be," one guard murmured. Lorenzo spotted Giovanni's smirk and knew immediately that the guards had had their passionate temperaments taken advantage of.

"Go." The guards looked pointedly at Giovanni, before leaving, shutting the door behind them. Lorenzo's cold expression softened visibly as they left. "Do you particularly enjoy tormenting my guards, or does just any mischief entice you?"

"It is a way to pass the time, as well as get your attention." The assassin's stance was relaxed, his smile easy, now that he was alone with the duke.

"You are hopeless," Lorenzo replied, the faintest smile on his face.

"This is how you like it," Giovanni replied, grinning.

"Insufferable assassin. Remind me why I pay you?"

"Because, for all of my annoying habits, I am the best assassin out there. Not to mention that you enjoy my company," the assassin recited, as if from a well-memorized list, obviously accustomed to this question.

"Ah, that's right. Who else could I pay to irritate me every day?"

"You do not pay me for my personality, _Altezza_; merely my skills."

"Correct once again, it seems that I have earned the privilege to know your _rich_ personality."

"You, and you alone, _Altezza_."

"I'm honored." Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, his gaze soft despite his sarcastic words.

"You wound me, _Altezza_."

"You make it too easy."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'll heal."

"_Altezza_, you did not answer my question," Giovanni murmured gently.

"What would you like me to say? That it's all rainbows and unicorns? Or that it hurts so much that I can barely stay awake?"

"The truth would be appreciated."

"Then, the latter." Lorenzo's expression was calm and indifferent, and it took nearly all of Giovanni's skills to spot the lurking pain there. The assassin frowned softly, his eyebrows creasing in concern.

"You should rest."

"I am resting."

"_Asleep._"

"Not possible." The duke's gaze was suddenly hollow, focused not on the assassin but on some faraway point, his hand clenching into a fist as it drifted to his wound, before he snapped it away. It took much of his energy to remain sitting up, and so he laid back down, preserving what energy he had left.

"Why not?" Giovanni asked quietly, outright worry in his expression – Lorenzo's cool mask had never failed him before.

"There is no sanctuary in sleep," the duke rasped softly. Giovanni found himself gently holding Lorenzo's arm, below the wound, in an attempt at comforting him. The duke's gaze snapped up to his own, and instead of hardening – as Giovanni had expected – his weary expression softened, and he managed a weak smile.

"If it helps any, I will not leave your side. If I have to fight down your guards, so be it. I will not be moved unless by force, _Altezza_."

"_Grazie_, Giovanni. The sentiment is appreciated." He shook his head softly, frustratedly. "Too tired to stay awake, too awake to fall asleep." He sighed, closing his eyes.

Giovanni watched over him through the days and nights, an unmoving sentinel. He sent a pigeon to his home, a letter telling his family he would be away for an undefined amount of time, for a sudden emergency at work. So resolute was he, that even the servants began to bring him meals as well.

* * *

Within a week, Lorenzo's condition had worsened. He was feverish, thrashing around in his sleep until whatever nightmares plagued him threw him into consciousness. No touch could comfort him, and Giovanni was forced to watch him battle through this alone, with the assassin forcibly on the sidelines. There was nothing he could do but replace the cool cloth on the duke's forehead. The nightmares that haunted him had to be terrible, to so greatly affect this stony-willed leader. When he was awake, he was so delirious that for all thoughts, he could be asleep. He began aimlessly talking to Giovanni, pouring out ideas and secrets and worries that the assassin was not sure were meant for him.

When Giovanni was going to stand to refill the bucket with cold water, a hand grabbed his wrist and tightened, and though the assassin could easily break free, he did not. Instead, he turned back to the bed.

"D-don't go…I…I need you," Lorenzo managed to rasp after a few moments. Giovanni sat back down, coaxing the grip around his wrist to relax and holding that hand within is own.

"I'm right here, _Altezza_. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good…I do not think I could make it without you."

"Make what without me?" For a moment, Giovanni had thought the duke was lucid, but it was not so.

"Make it through another…torturous day. I…_ti amo_." The last words were so quiet that Giovanni was not sure he had heard correctly. He flushed, his eyes widening.

"Shh, _Altezza_, sleep. You are delirious."

"I may be delirious, but I know very well what I am saying!" the duke snapped, sudden vigor returned and gone in an instant. Giovanni simply shook his head, unwilling to believe.

"Sleep. Perhaps you will feel better when you wake."

"Are you leaving?"

"No. I told you I would not leave your side and so I won't."

"_Grazie…_" Lorenzo sighed, relaxing against the pillow, closing his eyes. Giovanni took the silence as a chance to think over the young duke's words. He could not imagine that the younger man meant what he said. He was delirious, but everything he had said before was true, so why shouldn't this be? The assassin understood why Lorenzo would never speak of this, why he had kept silent. The both of them were married, not to mention the fact that sodomy was illegal. And even that put aside, Lorenzo was a master at hiding his emotions, at protecting himself. To state this, this sentiment, he would be making himself vulnerable, opening himself to hurt. Everything Giovanni knew about the duke told him that the only reason the man said it now was because his delirium and his infection loosened his tongue, had forced him to pour out what could be his deepest secret, to the only person he truly trusted. This posed the problem of whether or not the assassin should act as if he had never heard the duke utter those words, or if he should act on it. But how could he act on it? He was married, and he loved his wife! But his sense of duty for the duke warred with him. He would lay down his life for Lorenzo in an instant, and he was close to the man; but to hear that the young man's feelings were deeper than simple trust and affection? Did he feel the same? And if he did, it was a betrayal to Maria, and her trust. He would have to speak with her about that, when Lorenzo healed – he refused to think about 'if's.

The hours passed quickly, and Giovanni's turmoiled thoughts were only broken by Lorenzo's soft moans, when he changed the damp cloth on the duke's forehead, and when the servants came in, bringing him food. The _palazzo_ Medici seemed to quickly get used to Giovanni's presence – in fact, welcomed it. He looked over the duke, and calmed the young man, allowing him to rest at ease. The guards' earlier complaints and aggression were gone, now, and they greeted him almost amiably, inquiring after the duke's condition.

Lorenzo woke a while later, and his eyes were clearer than they had been before. Something in Giovanni's expression seemed to remind him – perhaps of what he had said – and he looked away, his eyes downcast.

"I said it, didn't I?"the young duke asked, no longer the fearless leader, but once again a vulnerable child, _fearful_, even. He did not meet the assassin's gaze, did not notice how the older man's features softened. Lorenzo knew there was no going back, had known that he would slip from the first time that he understood what these feelings were, why he flushed whenever the assassin leaned too close, why he was not as cold to Giovanni compared to anyone else.

"How-"

"Your expression. You have been thinking over what I said for the last few hours. It is as plain as day."

"I-"

"You don't know what to think, or say. What about your Maria? What about my Clarice? It is illegal, but so is your nighttime occupation. You wonder what this means, whether and what your duty to me stands for. You're bewildered and you don't know what to do, or say, or even think." The duke said this with eyes aimed away, refusing to look up, and he said it as if reading from a list, something he had long ago memorized.

"You-?" Giovanni seemed perplexed.

"I have spent many long hours on this. There is nothing else that your mind could be going through."

"With all due respect, _Altezza_, _let me speak_," the assassin interrupted, having watched the young duke's face fall the more he spoke. Lorenzo's gaze snapped up, his eyes glistening in the dim candlelight. This was not something he had expected, in all the hours he had spent tormenting himself on this subject. As the assassin sat there, he could not help but spot the hope in those wet eyes, and it twisted his heart to realize what the duke had put himself through, without uttering a syllable of it to another. "_Altezza_, did I not swear to you that I was yours, in everything?" Giovanni asked, aware that one of the most fragile hearts in _Firenze_ was in the palm of his hand. That Lorenzo had unwittingly given him so much power over him made the assassin wonder what he had done to earn it. He could not deny that he cared more for Lorenzo than an assassin should for his employer, but that it stretched to love? That was not hard to believe either.

"_Si_…but people often say things they do not mean, or do not understand."

"Am I one of those people?" Giovanni asked gently.

"N-no." Lorenzo had turned away, his face shutting down, cold to the world once more. So his assassin knew his darkest secret, and did not respond in any way except to repeat old words.

"_Altezza_…"

"I understand. Forget I said anything. You have Maria, and I have Clarice, and that is that. I cannot ask more of you than I have before. _Mi dispiace_…for troubling you." It was best to cut his losses, while he still could. Nothing would be the same, but he could deal with it. He had been through worse. Or so he told himself, anyway. This feeling, of dying from the inside, was absolutely torturous, and yet there _had_ to be something worse. And if not, then he would pull through anyway, and he would be the stronger for it. "Go."

"_Altezza_…" Giovanni was torn, watching the young man pull himself apart. It was not hard for the assassin to believe that this was how Lorenzo felt - he had noticed how the young duke flashed whenever he was too near, but he had assumed it was due to a lack of physical contact in his childhood.

"What?" the duke's voice cracked, and he flinched. "You keep calling me, but that is all you do."

"_Altezza_, listen to me. You know I would lay my life down for you in an instant," Giovanni began, and Lorenzo winced, tensing, as if preparing for hurt, "and this goes past simple duty. It takes more than duty to be willing to sacrifice oneself. I have Maria, yes, and I love her, but this does not mean my love is restricted." Lorenzo finally looked up, and the vulnerability Giovanni saw there, the weakness that the duke had allowed, only made the assassin want to protect him more. "Maria knows this, and understands it. I believe she knew form the first time I spoke of you to her. I don't believe you can understand how many feelings I have for you, the _least_ of which is love." Lorenzo looked away, and it was then that Giovanni realized that his forehead was glistening and his eyes had glazed over in the slightest. It struck home the fact that the duke had agonized over this to the point of it occupying his subconscious. His heart went out to the young man, who cared deeply for – and could be hurt by – only one thing. "You need to rest." His hand went to Lorenzo's forehead, feeling the heat there – continuously rising – and he smiled softly, his brow furrowing in worry. "Your fever has gotten worse. You need to sleep, _caro_," he murmured, and the duke's gaze snapped to him, a tense coldness about him dissipating.

"If you say so, _dottore_," Lorenzo replied, smiling weakly, wearily. "_Ti amo_," he whispered, his eyes sliding shut.

"_Ti amo_," Giovanni murmured softly, holding the young duke's hand, replacing the wet cloth on his forehead. He did not doubt that Lorenzo would remember this later, though he did not know what this would mean for their current relationship. No doubt his cool mask would return with the disappearance of his weakness, and it would be a rare occurrence for him to utter those two words. However, there had always been something holding Giovanni back from getting too close to the duke, but this had been clearly unfounded. Perhaps things would get better, instead of unnecessarily worse.

Either way, he swore to never hurt the heart that seemed to only belong to him. He refused to be the one to turn the duke away from believing in humanity. Lorenzo would have no reason to lose faith or trust in the assassin, that much he vowed.

"I won't let you down, _Altezza_."

* * *

**A/N:** Dunno if there are any words you wouldn't know, since all of these Italian words have appeared in my other stories, and to be honest, I currently have a bad headache and am exhausted from my weekend camping trip, so if there is a word that you completely don't understand, just leave a review and I'll tell you..

Actually, leave a review anyway. XD 3


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